


taste of metal

by little_mitochondria



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: (a tag I didn't think I would ever use but here we are), Angst, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa Lives, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Genital Piercing, Gift Fic, M/M, Monastery/Bank Heist Planning, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27456013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_mitochondria/pseuds/little_mitochondria
Summary: To think that Martín has that, on his body. Andrés tries to let it go. But it doesn't leave his mind. What the piercing must look like on him, the size of the ring, the exact placement. Mostly, he wonders how it feels. For Martín, for his partners. There isn’t a day during which those questions don’t plague him. Never had Andrés lost so much of his time thinking about someone else’s body.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 18
Kudos: 88





	taste of metal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puduhegepa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puduhegepa/gifts).



> ¡¡ feliz cumpleaños !!  
> this fic is pandering to the tastes of one (1) person and that's okay  
> for everyone else, good luck

Andrés sighs when he walks into the courtyard to find Helsinki shirtless – and Martín shamelessly gawking at him. Again. 

He knows these two have hooked up a few times. It's not that big of a deal. He just wishes they weren't as obvious about it. 

This is a side of Martín that Andrés doesn't care to know.

The rest of the gang are here too. Their breakfast long finished, but still sat at the table, exchanging pleasantries. 

And apparently, inventorying all of Helsinki's tattoos on this fine morning, for some reason. How unnecessary. 

He sits down next to Martín, who immediately pours him a fresh cup of coffee. 

“–and that's why Helsi is easily the most badass of us all”, Nairobi concludes.

“Mónica has a tattoo”, Denver chimes in. “She's a badass too.”

Stockholm laughs softly and unrolls her sleeve to reveal a flower on her upper arm. Andrés does appreciate the artistic value of this one.

“I'll share that podium with Lisbon, then. She has a piercing.”

This is the most pointless conversation Andrés has ever gotten to witness. He rolls his eyes at Martín and his friend grins in response, sharing his disdain. How comforting.

“Wait, no!”, Nairobi shouts, her face lighting up. “If we're making this a competition, I have it on good authority that there's someone here way higher than Lisbon and Stockholm on that list.”

Helsinki laughs. 

“He's higher than me too.”

What is this nonsense again? Andrés doesn't care to know about anyone's tattoos.

That is, until he follows Nairobi's gaze and spots Martín, squirming in his chair. Glaring at daggers at Helsinki. 

Andrés is not the only one who notices.

“No way! Palermo?”, Denver calls with annoying enthusiasm. “What kind of tattoos do you have? Show us!”

This is ridiculous.

“Palermo doesn't have any tattoos.”

Sergio stares at Andrés curiously, clearly surprised that he chose to weigh in. Or perhaps, confused by the certainty in his tone.

Martín smiles and, as always, proves him right.

“No, I don't have tattoos.”

“But he has a piercing.” 

Andrés blinks. And he blinks again.

He wonders what went through Helsinki's head to make this up. Of course Martín doesn't have any piercings. Andrés would know it if he did. 

A tense silence settles, and it finally dawns on him. 

That it is–

That Martín must have, on his body, a…

“Man, no way, that shit much hurt!”

Denver looks close to fainting. For once, Andrés has to agree with him.

 _“No”_ , Tokyo breathes, staring at Martín with wide eyes. “Palermo, don't tell me you have a– Actually, _don't_ tell me. I don't wanna know.”

“I _do_ wanna know”, Nairobi says.

And it seems, so does the rest of the gang.

_“How long have you had it?”_

_“What does it look like?”_

_“Is it really on your–”_

“Alright children, that's enough!”

At last, Martín straightens up in his chair and regains some control over this trainwreck of a conversation. 

“Let’s keep the press conference short”, he continues, waving his hands around. “It's called a Prince Albert, and yes, it's really where you think it is. Feel free to do your research on your own.”

Martín grins and takes a bite into his toast, not a care in the world. At least, that’s what he wants the gang to think.

“And no, Denver, it doesn't hurt”, he adds around another mouthful of toast. Martín is the only one who’s still eating.

“I don't buy it. It _has_ to hurt. You have a hole in your _dick_.”

Martín laughs, and he does seem genuinely amused, this time around.

“It did hurt when I had it made, yes. I cried like a little bitch for a solid month. But it doesn't hurt _now_.”

“Really?”

“Why don't you drop by my room, tonight? I'll show you how much it doesn't hurt.”

“I'm good, thanks.”

Andrés hides his grin.

He doesn't particularly agree with the way Martín just propositioned Denver at the breakfast table. But he does like that he did it in front of Helsinki. 

Trouble in paradise? 

Well, that was expected. These two have nothing in common.

No one knows Martín as well as Andrés does, anyway. 

Which is why he's baffled to learn something so unexpected about his friend, something so _outrageous_. He never thought Martín would– but then again, there are some sides of Martín that Andrés doesn't know. 

He doesn't know Palermo, for one. This act he created, this persona he puts on whenever the gang is around. That’s not Martín. That’s not his _ingeniero_.

He doesn't know, either, the man Martín is when he's with Helsinki. Nor does he want to know that man. No. He's just confused. And justifiably annoyed that Helsinki had a piece of information that he didn't. That’s all there is to it.

* * *

Andrés spots Martín sneaking away inside the monastery. Most likely, trying to get out of cleaning up after breakfast. Smooth. 

He follows his friend discreetly, and catches up to him in the empty corridor. 

_“La concha de tu madre”,_ Martín groans under his breath, falling apart before his eyes.

He looked so composed just a minute ago, outside on the patio. Smiling and proud, so full of light. But now that he’s alone – alone with Andrés – the mask slipped off and there’s no putting it back on. He’s pacing back and forth, shaking, _fuming_. 

Well, that makes two of them.

“What kind of a spectacle was that?”, Andrés snarls. 

Martín stares at him in silence, clearly surprised by the outburst.

Andrés is surprised too, actually. He didn’t realize he was this angry. Not just mildly annoyed. Properly worked up.

“Andrés?”, Martín calls, almost reaching for him before thinking better of it. “I know why I’m freaking out. Why are _you_ upset?”

“I should have known, Martín. You should have told me.”

He has the audacity to laugh at him.

“No, of course I shouldn’t have!”

“Why would you do this to your body?”, Andrés insists, his hands almost trembling as he grabs Martín’s arms. As though trying to shake some sense into him. 

Martín looks back with wide eyes and does not answer. Andrés lets go of him, but keeps talking.

“A man, as God made him, is a thing of beauty. Perfect as he is. Why would you– mutilate yourself?”

 _“Mutilate?”,_ Martín yells, and he laughs again. He sounds slightly manic. “Oh, trust me, you have no idea what you're talking about...”

“Then explain it to me.”

Martín pauses. He still looks frantic.

“You– No, you wouldn't understand.”

His lack of faith is offensive. 

_“Explain it to me,”_ Andrés repeats, cold and determined.

He needs to know. He _needs_ to understand.

Martín groans in frustration and points an angry finger at him. He looks tired. He looks _hurt_.

“You have no right to judge me like that, do you hear me? You think I wanted this? You think I wanted him to tell the whole gang? To tell you– That shit is fucking _private_ , okay? I shouldn’t have to explain myself.”

Andrés is taken aback by how truly affected Martín is by this. If he were a better man, he’d cut this conversation short, give him time to cool off privately. 

But he’s decided to get to the bottom of this, and he keeps staring at Martín until he caves. Which he does. As always.

“Fine! You wanna know this badly, I’m gonna fucking tell you!”, he spouts, speaking fast, speaking fiercely. “I got my dick pierced because I wanted guys to suck me off.”

Andrés's surprise must show in his face, because Martín laughs at him, a hoarse and twisted sound.

“You didn’t expect that, did you? Well that’s why I did it. And– well, I like it better that way, simple as that. The pleasure, it's different. More intense. You can't imagine how great my sex life has been since I got since I got my Prince Albert. Before, it was always me on my knees, worshipping a guy's cock. Never the other way around. I was fine with it not happening _all the time_. I'm a bottom, I like getting fucked. But my dick barely ever got any action. Well, not anymore. Now, every single guy I hook up with just falls to his knees the moment he sees it.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Men are curious, Andrés. They want to play with the piercing, to turn it around. To lick it. They suck my cock just to see what it feels like inside their mouth. And they like it. It's weird, but it's new. Exciting. It makes them want me more. Touch me more.”

If anything, Martín's explanation makes things even less clear for Andrés.

“You could have just _asked_ for reciprocity”, he points out. “Why did you have to go to such lengths?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don't.”

He does. 

He can't justify his anger, he can't even understand it, but Andrés _hates_ to know this. That Martín did this to himself. That if Andrés ever were to touch him there, he'd find– 

“I see”, Andrés mutters, taking a step towards Martín until he watches him recoil. “So you did that in order to whore yourself out even more than you already did, uh?”

“What the–”

“Who's next in your list, um? Denver? My brother? Doesn't matter whose cock it is to you, does it? As long as you're being fucked like a depraved little whore. How come you never asked _me?”_

Martín has his back to the wall now. None of Andrés's provocations seem to hit him where they should. He's frozen in place, staring and silent. 

Andrés takes advantage of that to press him against the wall, both hands on Martín's hips.

“You're going to show it to me.”

Martín's hand just flies, and Andrés feels the sharp pain on his cheek before he hears the slap. 

Finally, a reaction. Not the one Andrés hoped for, but a reaction nonetheless. 

And Martín didn't hold back. His chest is heaving, his eyes ablaze.

“Don't ever mock me like that again.”

All of a sudden, Andrés is alone, with a burning cheek and a buzzing mind.

Martín's reaction surprised him, but not as much as his own. What an interesting turn of events.

A jarring sound fills the hallway. Andrés realizes he’s laughing. 

* * *

For the next few days, Martín ignores him entirely. 

Andrés knows he's not as mad as he's ashamed. Ashamed of his outburst. Ashamed of what Andrés knows about him. 

Martín has never stood up to him like that. He’s never _refused_ him anything. 

Maybe Andrés did cross a line there. But what Martín took for a mockery was genuine curiosity on Andrés's part. 

Why hadn't Martín ever come to him? 

Especially when Andrés knows with absolute certainty that Martín wants him in that way. 

Did he know Andrés would refuse him? Of course, he would have let him down gently. He cares about Martín quite a lot. He holds him in high regard. But the fact he never even _asked_ Andrés, when he so readily asks anyone else. Even jokingly. Well... it bugs him.

And there's this other issue. 

Martín's piercing. 

Andrés does conduct _‘his own research’,_ as Martín sarcastically suggested. He sees things he wishes he didn’t, if he's quite honest. So many pictures, that make so little sense.

After a good ten minutes spent looking at disturbing – artless – photographs of pierced genitals, Andrés straight up unplugs the computer and tries to move on with his day.

And he can't. 

It's even more confusing, now that Andrés has seen the pictures. To think that Martín has _that_ , on his body.

Andrés tries to let it go.

But it doesn't leave his mind.

What the piercing must look like on him, the size of the ring, the exact placement. Mostly, he wonders how it feels. For Martín, for his partners. There isn’t a day during which those questions don’t plague him. 

Never had Andrés lost so much of his time thinking about someone else’s body.

Days go by, and Andrés realizes Martín hasn’t spoken to him for a full week. This is unprecedented. And unacceptable.

The one thing that brightens his day is the idle gossip he overhears at the lunch table. Nairobi is positive that Palermo and Helsinki are no longer hooking up. Andrés refrains from smiling when the news reaches him, the perfect mask of indifference. In truth, he’s ecstatic. 

Andrés is sure it's his fault. At least he hopes it is.

And there’s the piercing thing, too. 

Martín clearly didn't like it when Helsinki shared private information about him with the gang. He smiled through it. Played it for laughs. But Andrés knows him better than that. He felt betrayed. 

And then Andrés proceeded to ambush him, to insult him. Surely, that didn’t help.

He still can’t wrap his head around the fact that Martín has a– a Prince Albert, he might as well call it that. He cannot accept it, it baffles him that Martín has this, that he doesn't even regret his decision. 

How odd that Andrés regrets it for him. That he cares this much about something so trivial. 

That he cares so much, in fact, that it's him, that night, who finds himself knocking at Martín's door. After a full week of being ignored. Of being mentally tortured.

Martín tenses when he finds him at his door, but does let him in without a moment's hesitation. He seems tired too. Disheveled. Vulnerable.

He closes the door behind Andrés and takes a deep breath. 

“I'm assuming you're not here to apologize.”

Martín has always had such a charming sense of humor.

“You know why I’m here”, Andrés says, looking straight at him.

“Frankly, I don’t.”

_“Show me.”_

Martín gapes at him, and the visual is delightful. The wide eyes, the lips parted in shock. 

“What are you talking about? Andrés, you don't mean…?”

He lets his eyes wander down Martín’s body, before landing on his face again. There is absolutely no ambiguity about what it is he’s asking. Not asking. Demanding.

“You know what I mean. I want to see it.”

“Why?”

“I'm done losing sleep over it”, Andrés sighs, and he realizes this might be just a little _too_ honest on his part. “I need to know what it looks like. I need to make sense of this. We're friends, aren't we, Martín? It's not that big of a deal.”

“But it _is”,_ Martín whines. “It is a big deal. If I demanded to see your dick, just like that, out of the blue. Because I was curious. You wouldn't just whip it out.”

Andrés has to laugh.

“You can't know for sure. You never asked me to.”

“Andrés…”

His voice is strained. Almost pained. 

If there was a moment for Andrés to realize he's pushed him too far, and withdraw his outrageous request, it would be this one. But he's never really cared about what is or isn't acceptable behavior.

“You don't have to show me _now_ , Martín. I'll leave you to think about it. I'm just confused, that's all. You never refused me answers before…”

“Oh, come on!”

Emotional blackmail is a low blow, even by Andrés's standards. 

As expected, Martín caves.

“Fine. If it matters this much, I'll show you.”

Andrés always feels that rush, or power, of unbridled _joy_ , whenever he gets what he wants. 

He goes to sit on Martín’s bed, and silently motions him to sit by his side. The distance is respectful, but the context is making the air between them quite heavy. 

Martín doesn’t look at him as he opens his nightgown, but his hands linger around the elastic of his pajama pants.

“Goddammit, I can’t believe you’re making me do this…”

He slides them off, mid-thigh, and Andrés hears himself gasp. He’s asked for this. He wanted to see it. 

He wasn’t ready.

Martín’s cock is…

It’s silly, really, but Andrés’s first thought is that it’s beautiful

He doesn’t even see the piercing at first, so taken that he is by the sight. It’s soft right now, lying limp against Martín’s thigh, but it’s surprisingly long, and thick, and it looks normal, and it looks… yes, beautiful. Definitely. 

Martín clears his throat, and a brief glance at his face lets Andrés know how flushed he is. Lovely.

“I guess you can’t really see– okay, I’ll just…”

Martín grabs his cock with two fingers and lifts it slightly, pulling back the foreskin and _there it is._

A metallic ring adorning the head of his cock. It’s poking out from the tip, and inserted through a little hole in the head. 

That’s it. 

It’s not awful. Of course, there’s still the portion of the ring that Andrés cannot see, a literal rod of metal jammed inside the head, piercing the flesh. But it’s not the abomination he expected. It doesn’t make Martín’s cock any less _natural_.

Any less pleasing to look at.

Martín shifts on the bed beside him, and Andrés realizes he’s been staring silently for quite some time. 

He meets his eyes again.

“Well you’ve seen it”, Martín croaks, so visibly uncomfortable. “I hope you’re happy now.”

“Very”, he teases, knowing full well that he means it.

Martín smiles awkwardly, lets out a nervous little laugh, and it’s so charming, so jarringly innocent, that Andrés can’t help but mirror him. This is ridiculous. _They_ are ridiculous. But the tension between them is gone, and there’s this light in Martín’s eye again. 

It seems this past week of silence happened years ago. 

There’s slight movement next to him, a faint noise of fabric. Andrés’s attention is drawn to the mattress, where he sees Martín’s fist clenched around the bedsheets. 

Before he can ask, his eyes land on the cause of his discomfort.

Martín’s cock, Andrés realizes, is bigger than it was a moment ago. 

It’s half hard already, just from Andrés’s presence, just from his gaze lingering on him. Incredible. 

“Stop looking at it.”

His voice is cracked, his cock keeps getting bigger, and Andrés cannot control himself.

“I’m going to touch you.”

Martín bites his lip, looking like a deer in headlights. But he gives the slightest of nods and at last, Andrés reaches for his cock. 

He wraps a loose hand around the shaft, and presses a thumb near the piercing, watching in fascination as the smallest movement of the skin makes the ring shift ever so slightly. 

Andrés feels a throbbing against his palm as Martín’s cock keeps filling with blood, getting harder and harder under his touch.

He lifts his other hand and slowly reaches for the piercing. The metal is warm under his fingertips, and when Andrés fiddles with it with the utmost cautiousness, Martín lets out his first moan. A thing of beauty. 

“Andrés–”

He’s barely even touching him, and Martín is sporting a full erection. He smiles at the sight, at the feeling, and keeps shifting the ring, curious, fascinated. 

“How does it feel?”

“It's good”, he whispers. “It's very sensitive. Inside. The guy said– it stimulates more nerves.”

“I can see that.”

Andrés lets go of the ring and tightens the hand around Martín’s cock. He makes sure to be looking into his eyes when he starts stroking him. 

He moans again, and Andrés can’t get enough of that. Martín, in desire, in pleasure, is absolutely gorgeous. 

There’s this frown of confusion on his face.

“What are you doing?”

“You've said it yourself, didn't you? Men are curious…”

 _“Gay_ men are curious. You can’t–”

Andrés grabs Martín’s wrist and presses his hand to his own crotch. To his erection. 

“Oh my god!”

“It seems I'm curious too.”

He lets go of his cock and reaches for his shoulder. Martín understands immediately and lets him push him onto his back on his own bed, still looking up with wide eyes when Andrés straddles his thighs and resumes jerking him off. 

Martín, in this instant, belongs to Andrés and Andrés only. 

Without a warning, he leans in and kisses him. Martín melts against his lips, and Andrés swallows the sounds of his surprise, of his pleasure. He pulls away and Martín looks even more confused as before.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Which one? Touching you or kissing you?”

Andrés drops another peck on his lips before answering.

“Because I want to.”

Martín’s eyes are glazed over, there’s a madness to them. 

He involuntarily bucks his hips against Andrés’s hand, and he lets go of his cock. He shifts over Martín until his face is just between his thighs, eyes trained on his cock.

“Why do the men you're with want to put it in their mouth?”, he asks, letting his breath caress Martín’s skin. “Does it taste metallic? Does it dig into their palate?”

Martín gulps before he answers.

“I don't know”, he says, weak and breathless. “I've never sucked my own cock.”

“No, I didn't suppose you had. I guess I'll have to find out for myself then.”

Andrés leans in and darts his tongue out. He presses it against the piercing first, wincing at the taste of metal, and starts lapping around the ring, licking the head of his cock. 

“Andrés, fuck!”

He grins. 

Maybe later...

He keeps licking the head, intrigued by the texture, by the taste, the heat against his tongue.

But his attention keeps returning to the silver ring. He plays with it rather than with Martín’s cock. It’s distracting. 

“I fucking told you”, Martín whines, and Andrés can hear the trembling of his jaw in the sound of his voice.

He’s staring up at the ceiling, and he seems quite troubled for a man who was just getting his dick licked a second ago. 

“Told me what, Martín?”

“The Prince Albert”, he insists. “It worked even on _you_ . It’s got superpowers or something. You would _never_ have done that if it weren’t for the piercing.”

Martín sounds vindicated, but there’s an edge to it, a resignation. 

He believes this is the only reason Andrés is touching him, doesn’t he? He thinks it was never about him.

How absurd.

But then again, Martín saw Andrés’s behavior – his curiosity, his enthusiasm – and thinks it proves his point. It feeds his insecurities, his certainty that no one would ever want to put their mouth on him if it weren’t for the–

“You’re going to take that thing off.”

Martín gulps, confused, but obliges without question. He starts fiddling with the ring, takes off the metallic sphere adorning it, and pulls it out of his cock. 

There’s a faint noise as Martín sets it on his nightstand, and Andrés takes in the sight. Looking at his cock without the piercing, he can't tell it was even there. Just a little hole on the head, barely noticeable now with how hard and swollen he is. 

He smiles, leans in again, and presses his lips against the head of Martín’s cock. 

He looks up to meet his eyes as he does, as he kisses it, softly, reverently. Andrés isn’t sure why he felt the need to do that, but he does it again, and again, and it’s tender, the way he peppers kisses all over Martín’s member. The head, the length, the base. It doesn’t even feel sexual. Sensual maybe. Not so different from the kiss he pressed to Martín’s lips earlier.

It’s _chaste_.

Andrés laughs at the thought, and drops another kiss on the head. Open-mouthed this time, letting his tongue swirl around him, tasting him.

Martín makes a strangled noise that resonates through Andrés’s body. 

“See, Martín?”, he taunts. “See what you get when you heed my advice? Good things happen to you. Pleasure happens to you.”

This time he wraps his lips around the head of his cock and engulfs it into his mouth, and Martín loses it, groaning desperately, throwing his head back into the pillows.

Yes, this is definitely better. He didn’t hate the piercing, it was intriguing, but having it removed? He doesn’t feel metal dig against his palate, nor does he want to. Just Martín’s burning flesh, heavy on his tongue, begging for his touch. 

He starts bobbing his head a little, taking more inside his mouth, and Martín squirms and moans under him. Each and every one of his reactions is delightful.

Andrés has never done this, but he wants to. He wanted to when he first saw Martín's cock. He wants it even more now. 

It's not actually about how it looks, or how it feels. He's giving pleasure to Martín. Andrés needs him to know he's doing it for the right reasons. Not because of that stupid piercing. 

Or perhaps he just needs to be right. He called that thing an abomination, he can't let Martín believe he convinced him. He didn't. 

Andrés doesn't want Martín _because of it._ Not _in spite of it_ either. He wants Martín, regardless of that..

He wants Martín. Period.

Andrés lets his lips slide further down around Martín's cock, lets it fill his mouth and invade his senses. The taste is obscene, but not as much as the feverish look in Martín’s eyes, never leaving him, not as much as the desperate little whines that keep escaping his throat. 

Andrés decides he likes both. The reactions he can elicit, and the act itself. 

Martín is shaking under him, his hips, his hands, even his lips are trembling. A spectacle of pleasure Andrés never wants to take his eyes away from.

“Fuck me.”

Andrés doesn’t let Martín’s cock slide out of his mouth as he shakes his head. 

His refusal seems to make Martín even more unhinged.

“Andrés, _please_. If you can suck my cock, you sure can fuck me. I want you to.”

He does make a compelling argument. 

Andrés pulls away and shifts just enough to cup his face and kiss him. A reward for his eagerness. He lets his tongue dart against his lips, taunting him with a taste of himself, and Martín greedily opens his mouth for him. That’s when Andrés breaks the kiss, satisfied.

“I’ll give you what you want, but not today.”

Before Martín can reply, Andrés is back between his legs and swallows him down. He holds onto him, his fingers digging quite hard into the flesh of his thighs, and Martín whimpers and lets him. So pliant. So effortlessly _obedient_. 

Andrés picks up the rhythm, gives it his all. Makes him feel just how much he is wanted. With his ardor, with the way he lets his own erection press against Martín’s leg as he sucks him off.

It may be his tongue, his unwavering stare, or perhaps the knowledge that Andrés will most definitely fuck him at some point, but Martín is already approaching his orgasm. He’s getting tenser, louder. The hands that hadn’t dared touch him are now cupping Andrés’s face, trying to pull him off. Charming.

And because Martín is trying so hard to stop it, Andrés makes sure to fit as much of his cock as he can take into his mouth, until he feels him coming on his tongue.

And no piercing forced Andrés to do that either. Nothing but his own desire.

* * *

Much later into the night – after Andrés also got to experience the wonders of Martín’s mouth – he lays in bed, sated, and watches his lover carefully slide his piercing back into place. 

“It heals very fast, there”, he explains as he pulls his pants back up. “If I keep the ring out for too long, I won’t be able to put it back in.”

He almost sounds apologetic. 

Andrés puts a hand on his head, letting his fingers thread through his hair.

“I don’t hate it, you know”, he reassures him. “You can keep it if you want.”

“Oh, I _can_ keep it”, Martín mimics, scandalized. “Gee, thanks! I didn’t know I was waiting for your permission.”

Martín is delicious when he’s angry. Andrés wants another serving already.

“Not my _permission”,_ he concedes, amused. “But, well… it's only polite to take into account the preferences of your long-term sexual partner, isn't it?”

Martín coughs, almost choking. Funny how he didn’t flinch with Andrés’s cock down his throat, but his _words_ are making him choke.

“My long-term–”

He trails off and lets his confused, hopeful face finish the sentence for him.

“If this were a one night stand, sure, I wouldn't have a say”, Andrés clarifies. “But if we're to– continue on this path, I expect you to take my desires into consideration. Or in that case, my dislikes. But as I said, I don't actually mind the piercing. So you can keep it. Or not. Your choice. I’ll be touching you either way.” 

Andrés stares at him expectantly, fully aware of the effect of his words on him.

“Okay”, Martín eventually says, with a small voice, with a wide smile.


End file.
